


Scritches

by j4nusfaced



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous Inquisitor, Fluff, Gen, wanted to be as general as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 15:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18166970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j4nusfaced/pseuds/j4nusfaced
Summary: Original prompt: The Inquisitor doesn't know why but Solas really likes having his stomach rubbed/scratched.Filled in 2014.





	Scritches

It was rare to get a moment of peace in Skyhold, even as the Inquisitor--especially as the Inquisitor. Everyone wanted something at all hours of the day, be it Josephine and the endless string of nobles curious about the Herald, Cullen and his recruits needing a pep-talk from the leader, Leliana and her constant feed of information on their numerous allies, or even the Inner Circle, desiring a drink, a confident, or even just a moment of your time please, nothing more.  
  
That was why, the first time the Inquisitor finally had enough, the scaffold in Solas' room seemed like the perfect place to hide. It was right below the library, in the right spot to be blocked by the level above from view from across and it was sturdy enough for a stack of books, a bundle of blankets, and an exhausted Inquisitor to hide at. For his part, the hedge mage merely raised a brow as he watched the so-called Blessed of Andraste scramble up the ladder as though demons were on their way. When he asked what was going on, he was hushed by the frantic leader, a finger pressed to pursed lips. "Shhh! Just pretend I'm not here!"  
  
After that, Solas' silence on the matter was easily bought with tomes about the Fade. After all, the Inquisitor enjoyed quiet time just as much as he did, and hardly made any noise as the apostate painted his frescoes or poured over books. Nor was it long until Solas decided to join the Inquisitor up the scaffold, with sweet snacks, warm blankets and warmer drinks (that thankfully were not tea) safe up there. Sometimes, after a tiring day, one would lean against the other, pouring over some book or another as they comfortably shared the warmth of the blanket. Sometimes, they would engage in quiet conversation about everything or nothing.   
  
Then came a day that Solas, exhausted from running around Emprise du Lion and chasing after three high dragons and clearing out a large keep occupied by both Red Templars and a very annoying demon/spirit/ponce only to immediately march back to Skyhold, lay his head on the Inquisitor's lap. He ignored the surprised jolt, a frown on his lips. "You thought it would be a good idea to accomplish a week's worth of tasks in one day. The least you could do is lend me your lap for five minutes." He stated in a tone that welcomed no argument, even as he continued to read through the latest chapter of Hard in Hightown.   
  
"It was for a good cause." The Inquisitor commented, settling in despite the weight on sore legs. Solas refused to look away from his book, so the Inquisitor sighed and went back to reading as well. Just as well; the day was tiring, and the blanket was warm. They all deserved a rest.  
  
The two hidden on the scaffold, even as Josephine wandered the halls searching for their missing leader, enjoyed the relaxing moment. Yes, it couldn't be considered quiet with Leliana's ravens cawing, Dorian's complaints clearly audible from just a few feet above, laughter and murmurs coming in from the main hall, and sounds of the drills in the courtyard filtering in from the windows. But it was peaceful, with nothing trying to kill them, and it almost reminded the Inquisitor of a time long ago, with a warm pet resting where Solas' head was now.  
  
At least that was the excuse the Inquisitor had in case Solas had asked why a hand found its way to his stomach. It was the apostate's turn to be startled as the Inquisitor's fingers ran along his belly, light and gentle. But the soft strokes were not met with the clipped "don't" that the Herald expected. Merely, a contented sigh as the book in Solas' hand rested on his chest.  
  
It was the first time that the Inquisitor saw the hedge mage completely relaxed. No quips or snide remarks, no comment on the Qun or the Dalish or the Chantry. Nothing about the state of Thedas or the intricate workings of the Fade. Nothing but contentment, a face unlined with worries or thoughts running rampant through his head. After that, the Inquisitor saw no reason to question it and every reason to continue rubbing the apostate's stomach. Even if that meant ignoring the contented sighs that sounded not unlike a dog's happy wuffs.


End file.
